


I Have A Name

by claquesous



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drabble, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-05
Updated: 2013-07-05
Packaged: 2017-12-17 18:23:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/870580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claquesous/pseuds/claquesous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of drabbles and/or oneshots about Ted (Not Theo) Nott and Tracey Davis the half-blood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Necessity

I was shocked and honestly quite embarrassed when he came up to me in public. The bit of my father in me pitched a fit at the sight of his lightning scar. But I was ravenously curious—I always have been, and it'll kill me someday—so I let him talk, and I listened.

I was disconcerted by my immediate impression of him. He saw far more of what went on inside my head than anybody else seemed to, and he didn't even know me. Why was he talking to me? Why had he paid me enough attention to understand me? But I listened.

He knew I needed help. And somehow he knew I was searching for it. And everything that mattered to everyone else—house rivalries, blood, where loyalties should lie—was so irrelevant to him, that he offered me that help, the bastard. As if I needed any more to keep me up at night. He left once he said what he wanted; he understood the anger in my eyes, and while he refused to accept the blame for it, he accepted responsibility for it, and left me alone.

He offered Tracey the same thing, and from afar I was struck how alike those two were: half-bloods, stuck between a rock they hadn't seen and a hard place that had just appeared out of bloody nowhere—except that he had resources, and people behind him. He was using them too, and I saw in that moment—him talking to Tracey and her looking like she wanted to spit in his face but knowing she had no business refusing help—that he was right.


	2. The Battle of Hogwarts (The Not-So-Glamorous Part)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They wait as their family and friends rip each other to pieces.

Two hundred students spilled into the street, overflowing the Hog's Head. Aberforth kept a steady supply of butterbeer coming down the stairs and out the door, but there was only so much room, only so much heat, only so much he could do. And Merlin knew, he'd done enough already.

The Ravenclaws and Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs clustered together like a mob of penguins, the younger ones and the traumatized ones in the middle where it was warmest, the chivalrous (suicidal) older Gryffindors on the outer edges.

The Slytherins, thanks to Pansy, had been thrust first to the outskirts of the circle, then away from the rest of the houses altogether. Now they sat in a scraggly line against the wall, under the Hog's Head's dripping awning. The older ones had dried up the puddles and mud, and now they sat in a squished oval hugging the building. Draco Malfoy was suspiciously absent, along with Crabbe and Goyle, but all the others seemed to be accounted for. Daphne was trying not to burst into tears or hug Astoria, as she knew both would be heartily unappreciated, and Blaise had his arm around her, looking annoyed that he was getting little to no attention. Tracey was squished between Blaise and Ted, who for some reason was actually warm, and on Ted's other side sat Millicent and Pansy, ignoring each other and the rest of the world. Pansy could be a spiteful moron, but at times like these even Ted admired her fortitude.

“Holding up okay, Greengrasses?” Ted called down the line. His resonant voice bounced off the empty walls along the alley, scaring Daphne.

“What?” she yelped.

Blaise rubbed her back at the slightest opportunity to calm her. “Just Nott. Wants to know how you and your sister are doing.”

Daphne narrowed her stunning eyes at her boyfriend. “I know,” she said.

Blaise rolled his eyes as soon as Daphne looked over at Ted.

“Fine, thank you,” she said stiffly.

“How are you?” Ted said softly, looking down at Tracey. Her face was slightly flushed with the cold, beautiful color in her pale skin. Her half-shut eyes matched the color of the sky, which looked awful on the sky but great in her face.

Tracey looked up at him, curious or suspicious—Ted couldn't tell. “Fine,” she said finally.

Ted opened his mouth with a smirk to repeat the question, but Tracey changed her mind. “No, that's a lie. I feel like shit.”

Ted smiled bitterly. “That's more like it. Optimism. Like it.”

“Shut up. I'm hungry, I'm cold, I'm tired, I don't know whether I'll live the rest of my life as a slave or an outcast, and I bloody hate Harry Potter.” She pushed her fingers through her dark hair, sighing slowly.

“Shall I tell you why I'm more miserable?”

“Sure.” She wanted to hear no such thing.

“I'm hungrier, I'm pretty warm but you're not, I'm exhausted, I don't know whether I'll live the rest of my life as a prisoner or a slaver, and I bloody hate... well, pretty much everyone at this point.”

“Nice try,” Tracey said, “but I've withheld information. My parents are also on the run and I wouldn't know if they'd been dead for months.”

“My parents are dead.”

“My brother is dead.”

“I never had a brother.”

“Exactly.” Tracey wanted to quit, but she knew Ted was hurting just as much and this was as close as they'd come to crying any time soon.

“You never had a Mark,” Ted said quietly, and suddenly Tracey understood his comment about being a slaver.

“What?” she whispered.

Discreetly, Ted pulled his left sleeve tight over his forearm, the silhouette of the hideous tattoo visible through the white fabric.

“Shit, Ted.”

“I know, right?” he drawled.

“I'm sorry,” Tracey said in a small voice.

Ted looked over at her, concerned. “No, I didn't—your issues are way bigger than mine. My life's already through, don't throw yours away feeling sorry for me.”

But Tracey had withdrawn into her mental fortress again. “I'm not. I barely know you. Why would I feel sorry for a—for you?”

But Ted still heard “Why would I feel sorry for a Death Eater.” And he agreed. Why would she? She had always sided against the Dark Lord, however silently.

“Why indeed?” he muttered. Tracey refused to look at him.

“You lost it,” Millicent sighed beside him.

Ted looked at her in surprise. “Lost what?”

“You were getting so close, too!” Mill shook her head. “She needs somebody to get under her skin every once in a while. You were so close, but then she shut down. You need to be more careful next time.”

Ted was smiling incredulously. “Way to blow my cover, Bulstrode.”

“Sure thing, Nott. Advice for next time: don't feel sorry for her, or at least don't let her realize it. Turns her off quicker than talking about Crabbe and Goyle.”

“Merlin. Too much information, Bulstrode. But thank you.”

Tracey shuddered next to him, and he looked over, thinking she was laughing at Bulstrode's comment.

Tears were running down her face into her fingerless gloves, and Ted murmured, “Hey,” and gently peeled her hands back from her face. Her eyes climbed the contours of his face to rest in his eyes, his earthy brown eyes that were as solid as the ground she sat on. In her gray eyes was the saddest thing Ted had ever seen, too sad even to be given a name. It was an emotion all Tracey's own, one that she had invented and would forever possess as her own and only hers, one more devastating than loss and worry and anger and frustration all piled into one, and Ted wanted to make it go away this fucking minute.

He wiped away a couple droplets from her white white skin and his fingers slid into her hair and tucked her head against his chest, and without a single word he cried with her.

 


	3. Dark Arts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ted can't keep his fucking mouth shut.

(“Defense Against”) the Dark Arts was one of the few outlets for the seventh year Slytherins. That one class was responsible for the most points to Slytherin; love, Gryffindor, and the most black eyes and broken noses to Gryffindor; love, Slytherin. Amycus was always more than happy to give any disagreeable kid a Cruciatus, but it wasn't hard to talk him into turning it on a Gryffindor, on the rare occasion that he noticed when a Slytherin insulted him.

Tracey Davis was particularly good at it. She could turn the most innocent remark into a grievous offense, sometimes only with a well-timed snort or a seemingly unrelated question. It was regular entertainment for the Slytherins; they latched onto it as the only place they could even smirk (usually) without a detention.

Tracey was also adept at protecting her own. Ted Nott, especially, she rescued often from his own mouth. (And middle finger.) Everyone trod lightly around her, since nobody could quite figure out what went on in her head: she was quiet, but dangerously so; kind, but treacherously so. She was the lifeguard in their pool, and they left her alone.

However, Tracey wouldn't even have been able to save herself the day after the Gryffindor kids got into Snape's office, let alone Ted. So when he got himself in trouble again, half expecting the insult to go over Carrow's head, his housemates threw him to the wolves.

“What was that, Nott?” Amycus asked, in a very calm tone that he never used. If he thought it'd do any good, he might have thrown somebody else into the line of fire, but Nott knew he was fucked.

“I said,” Ted supplied patiently, abandoning subtlety, “that I'd really appreciate it if you'd bathe, oh, every once in a while, and it'd be great if you could suggest the same to your sister, who's even smellier.” This was far more offensive than his original comment, and he knew it. But the look on the Death Eater's face was priceless. It was possibly the rudest thing a student had said to his face, and it hadn't even been disguised as something other than an insult.

Ted glanced instinctively at Tracey, who he still half-expected to save him, and almost grinned at her mortified expression. This was how he dealt with the Carrows—it was laugh or cry, and he sure as hell wasn't going to cry.

Amycus didn't even fuck around; he must have been extraordinarily pissed off. After the glance at Tracey, the last thing Ted saw was a flash of red, because his brain suddenly couldn't care less about sight when his whole body erupted into nervesplitting pain. Had he been coherent enough to register sound either, he would have heard Tracey's muttered “ _Shit_ ” from right behind him.

Ted's vision cleared for a split second when Amycus demanded a volunteer. Thank Merlin, it was Goyle; Crabbe was far better at it. But Goyle was still far too talented to suit Ted; it still hurt like fucking hell. Goyle, not a second too soon, passed the baton to Longbottom, who got his own Cruciatus for refusing to touch Nott, and then Malfoy stepped up. Good thing Ted had passed out before it was Tracey's turn. Or she hoped he had.

* * *

Tracey had to ignore Ted's unconscious body on the floor for the whole rest of the Dark Arts class. As kids started to file out, at relaxed enough a pace not to incur Amycus's very acute wrath, Tracey stood unsteadily and knelt next to him. His lip was torn to shreds from trying not to make a sound and welts all over his body from the curse itself. It was a gory sight. She touched his face; it was feverishly hot.

“Make sure he learns his lesson,” Amycus said in a very satisfied tone of voice; it seemed he had figured out what to do with insurgents. Tracey could only feel grateful that he hadn't singled her out for future dealings with Ted. Slytherins always took care of their own, after all.

Tracey took out her wand and with a tremulous swish of it _Levicorpus_ ed him to the common room, mercilessly far away. Nobody met her eyes as she shuffled down staircase after staircase, and she was grateful.

She sat on a green leather couch next to his eerily quiet body—she'd know he was alright once he started snoring—until he woke up. It was a long time, but she refused to leave him for even a book to pass the time. After a while she started to sift through his list of injuries—it wasn't really that long of a list, there were just very many of the nasty purple welts—and heal the ones that looked worse. Most of them were on his torso, so she managed to get his shirt off and his head in her lap as she picked and chose the ones to spend her time and energy on.

Daphne gave her a look as she entered the common room in the middle of this process, but everybody left Tracey alone.

It was a painful process. Tracey’s familiarity with Ted’s body only served to exaggerate the damage done by mere pain. It wasn't like Tracey hadn’t seen Ted injured, but he’d never been trashed quite this badly.

When his eyes fluttered open, Tracey was offended by the shock in them. But after that initial surprise, his eyes began to water with the pain. A tear squeezed from the corner of his eye as he tried not to cry out in pain, and Tracey touched his face tenderly. “I'm sorry,” she whispered hoarsely. “I really couldn't have done anything to help.”

He nodded jerkily, a whine escaping his throat as she worked her magic through a particularly bad bruise. “You idiot,” she breathed with a sound that was half laugh, half sob.

 _I know_ , he mouthed, his mouth twisted apologetically even as a tear slid down his cheek. She watched his eyes fade as he passed out again, and choked back another sob.

 _You bastard_ , Tracey thought fiercely of Amycus Carrow, _I'll fucking kill you, I swear to Merlin_.

 


	4. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "That's ridiculous. I could make you break that promise."
> 
> "But you won't, and nobody else can."

Ted spoke softly, said something about how it wasn't his business, but he really wanted to know what had happened.

"Nothing happened," she said abruptly, looking over at him emotionlessly. "I said something stupid, and got my ass kicked for it."

"That sounds like something happened," Ted insisted, encouraged by the lack of silence. "What'd you say?"

"I don't think I need to repeat it," she snapped.

"Calm down," Ted said irritably. "Nobody's around."

"You're around."

"What. You think I'm going to rat? On you? Are you kidding me?" Ted stared at her, seeing for the first time suspicion directed at him. "Merlin, no, Tracey," he said gently. He moved closer, hoping she'd let him.

She didn't move, but she didn't look at him either. He reached out his hand and hesitated before he realized she wasn't pulling away. He pressed his hand to her cold cheek, and gently turned her head to face him. After a moment of still and silence, he cupped her face in both his hands, made her look up at him. Her freckles were shallow on her pale face, her eyes shining with barely contained tears. He wondered how long it'd been since she cried.

"Tracey, I'm never gonna turn you in. I can't. I'm physically incapable."

She smiled insincerely. "That's ridiculous. I could make you break that promise."

"But you won't, and nobody else can," he countered confidently.

"You trust me too much."

"I love you. What else can I do?"

She was silent for a moment, not smiling, not scowling, not crying, not breathing, he didn't think. "Trace—"

"Shh," she murmured, as she moved infinitesimally closer for a kiss. He closed his eyes and didn't move. He didn’t want to.

It was a very still kiss. After what seemed like forever, she pulled back. Tear tracks were fading on her cheeks. “I love you too.”

It wasn’t what he’d originally asked for, but now he couldn’t imagine wanting anything but those three words from the girl in his arms.

 


End file.
